


The Ride Home

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of today's episode. Was going to be porny but ended up being fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ride Home

“You can take the back, Cas.”

Dean settles himself upon the uncomfortable bench seat of the Impala, legs cramped against the door in a painful crouch. He tugs his jacket over his shoulder; the one blanket he’s bothered to leave in the Impala is resting over his best friend who, despite his claim of ‘being too tired to make the ride back to the gas station’, is staring at him with fucking owl eyes.

“What is it?” Dean mutters, leaning backwards until his head is pillowed against the arm rest. It’s truly an awkward position. Briefly, he wonders if he’s getting too old for this shit. But of course he isn’t too old; no one is. Dean brushes off any remaining thoughts as Castiel mumbles something from beside him. “What?”

“I asked whether you’re uncomfortable.” Cas’s wide blue eyes are focused on Dean, unwavering as always. Damn, Dean thought that would go away what with the new status as a human.

“I, uh, yeah,” Dean replies, twirling his fingers within each other. What the fuck? “It’s fine. I, uh, can manage.” He turns so he’s lying on his side, facing away from the fallen angel.

Sharing the Impala with someone isn’t terribly unusual for either Winchester. Dean and Sam had grown up in the damn thing after all, what difference would the company of other people make?

Apparently a lot, as Dean’s heart is pumping out enough blood to fill a Red Cross storage van. His palms are sweating. He feels like a fucking teenager again, pumped full of hormones and nowhere to put them.

A warm, sturdy weight settles over his shoulder, urging him to rotate backwards. Dean’s entire body reacts almost violently, his fucking toes  _curling_  from the contact. Of the sheer  _pleasure_  that Cas’s wide, flat palm that can feel what Dean feels now. That is subject to the same petty whims as Dean is now. _  
_

“Would you like the back?” Cas asks, his voice more low and gravelly than Dean remembers. “It’s your car, you should be comfortable.”

Dean shifts onto his elbows, nearly smacking Cas in the jaw from the motion. Why the hell was he leaning in so damn close? That warm heat creeps onto his face again, this time with a vengeance, and he glances at his lap.

“No, uh, you can have it.” Cas took his advice and then some. Not only is the damn shirt unbuttoned, but it’s been discarded completely. Dean only caught a peek of that smooth, tanned expanse of skin below Cas’s collarbone, but he already wants more.

He sincerely hopes Castiel doesn’t notice the sudden growth spurt his crotch has underwent.

Castiel shrugs and slides along the seat, the sound of skin grating leather filling the Impala with its delicious sound. He rustles around a little more before he clears his throat and mutters, “There’s room if change your mind.”

And with that not-so-subtle hint dangling above their heads, Dean loses all hope of concealing the now very prominent boner going on in his ratty jeans. Castiel has to know what he’s doing. He fucking has to. Carefully, Dean peeks around the headrest again and notices the little smirk splayed over Cas’s lips, the way his eyes rest at some point on Dean’s body. The way the slight bump at Cas’s groin is, uh, significantly  _larger_  than usual.

His eyes draw a line back to Castiel’s face, homing in on each bump and imperfection Castiel’s skin has adopted now that he’s subject to such minor injuries. When his eyes land upon Castiel’s face, he sees the tiredness there, the dark bags beneath his faded blues. He notices the grimace Cas’s face settles into now, instead of the powerful frown. He notices the intermittent  _depression_ , and Jesus, if that wasn’t enough to motivate Dean beside him, he doesn’t know what the hell is. So, he carefully maneuvers himself over the armrest, wincing at the little scuffs that he knows are going to be there in the morning. Then, just as carefully, he seats himself against the spoon of Cas’s body, letting himself be encompassed by the radiating heat of his friend.

“Is… is this all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Dean doesn’t have a response for that and lets any of his remaining hesitancy collapse into Cas’s arms, allowing himself to be surrounded by their strength, even without the angel mojo. As if by instinct, Cas slides a hand down Dean’s ribs, stopping where his waist cinches, letting his hand dangle over the softness of Dean’s stomach.

He can already feel himself drifting from the sudden comfort, surprised by the effect of Castiel’s very presence lulling him into a peaceful slumber. He can feel Cas drifting too, his head tucking into the crook of Dean’s neck, his slowing breath wisping along Dean’s jaw eliciting goose bumps throughout Dean’s body.

Just as Dean’s thoughts turn to dreams and his resolve crumbles into tasteful fantasies, he hears a drowsy mumble from the man behind him.

“I’m home,” Castiel whispers, and whether the softness of his tone stems from another world he’s enraptured in or the one he now lives in, Dean grins.

Yeah, he could get used to this sort of home.


End file.
